


conditions of absolute reality

by Snickfic



Category: Captain Marvel (2019)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, M/M, Other, Power Dynamics, Pre-Captain Marvel (2019), Selfcest, Virtual Reality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 12:00:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22395757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snickfic/pseuds/Snickfic
Summary: Sometimes Yon-Rogg waited a while for the Supreme Intelligence’s attention to finally fall on him. There was no wait today.
Relationships: Kree Supreme Intelligence/Yon-Rogg
Comments: 12
Kudos: 23
Collections: MCU Space Ships 2019





	conditions of absolute reality

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thedevilchicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/gifts).



> I found your prompt about "things the SI might do to reward Yon-Rogg" very inspiring. :D

Yon-Rogg waited until he and the team returned to Hala. He sent the others off to shower and feed themselves and rest, with an extra shoulder-squeeze for Vers and a nod of approval to Minn-Erva, who’d cause trouble somewhere down the line if he wasn’t careful. He showered, too, because the Supreme Intelligence would have known the results of the mission hours ago. There was no reason to rush. 

But at last, in mid-afternoon, he boarded the train for the city center. At last he took the steps up to the sanctum, scanned his wrist badge—unnecessary, for they all knew him here, but still protocol—and followed one of the attendants to an alcove. There was a shelf to put one’s clothes on, if one preferred. Yon-Rogg did prefer it when he was here, in the sanctum proper. He stripped out of his loose off-duty clothing, folded it, and promptly set it out of his mind. There was no rush, and the Supreme Intelligence had no use for impatience, so he folded himself slowly and deliberately to his knees. His skin prickled in the cool air. He put his hands to his thighs and closed his eyes, and he waited.

Sometimes he waited a while for the Supreme Intelligence’s attention to finally fall on him. Those were good times for practicing meditation and the skill, so necessary for a commander of Starforce, of regulating his breathing and his heartbeat. No rush.

There was no wait today. He’d barely knelt before he felt cool, slick conducting fluid crawl up over his skin. The tingle of the electrical charge hummed over him, heating him, obliterating any attempt at controlling his pulse, and then—

He opened his eyes. 

Sometimes the Supreme Intelligence appeared facing away—a sign of displeasure and yet a reprieve, a moment for Yon-Rogg to collect himself and brace for the inevitable correction to follow. Today the Supreme Intelligence shimmered into being in profile, one eye already on Yon-Rogg in a slanted, sideways glance.

The Supreme Intelligence still appeared as Yon-Rogg himself—or some ideal of himself, which none of the official documentation ever spoke of. There weren’t meant to be ideals here, nor fantasies, only the pure rationality of the supreme being itself. Yon-Rogg had mostly given up wondering why he was an exception. He had asked the Supreme Intelligence about it exactly once; he did not intend to repeat the experience.

“She did well,” the Supreme Intelligence said.

Yon-Rogg exhaled quite deliberately, with complete control. The Supreme Intelligence had dressed them both in Yon-Rogg’s own armor, which might have meant it was pleased with him or might have meant quite the opposite. He said, “It would have been a longer mission without her. She reduces the number of uncontrolled variables.”

“She _is_ an uncontrolled variable,” the Supreme Intelligence said, and Yon-Rogg certainly couldn’t disagree with that.

“Her energy regulator held,” Yon-Rogg pointed out. “We’ll need to look at the readings—”

“I’ve looked at them,” the Supreme Intelligence said. It was staring off into the distance, towards that mirage of a horizon. Yon-Rogg ventured no further commentary. He timed the intake of his breath, and he timed letting it out again, and finally the Supreme Intelligence said, as Yon-Rogg had two months ago, “She may prove useful.”

Yon-Rogg did not make so bold as to agree.

“Well done, Yon-Rogg,” the Supreme Intelligence said, turning finally to give him its full attention. It gazed on him with green eyes and white hair, from a height well above what Yon-Rogg had ever attained: an admirable figure indeed, correct in every way. Its lips curved upward. “I suppose you want a reward, then.”

“I—I would never presume—” 

“Liar,” the Supreme Intelligence said equably. Suddenly it was just before him, bare inches away. It cupped Yon-Rogg’s jaw. “Do you think I can’t read the patterns of your brain, your every neurochemical impulse? That I can’t tell what you want?”

Yon-Rogg’s imagined breath was harsh in his non-existent lungs. “I live to serve the collective,” he said.

The Supreme Intelligence’s thumb dug under the hinge of Yon-Rogg’s jaw. “You do, don’t you?” it said, contemplative, as if it this were a discovery—as if it hadn’t long ago found everything in him there was to see. Its thumb dug deeper, ratcheting Yon-Rogg’s pulse up, and with that leverage the Supreme Intelligence angled him downward. “Show me, then,” it said.

Yon-Rogg stumbled this time as he knelt—off-kilter, unbalanced. His knee knocked hard against the glass-smooth floor, and he hid a wince. When he looked up, what he found at eye-level was not the blue-teal of a Starforce uniform, but his own loose off-duty linens, which he’d left folded on an alcove shelf. The Supreme Intelligence’s palm slid up the side of Yon-Rogg’s head, and his fingers threaded through Yon-Rogg’s hair and closed, pulling sharply. “You may now demonstrate your service to the collective,” the Supreme Intelligence said.

Its grip in Yon-Rogg’s hair held him steady as he pulled the draw string loose with unsteady fingers and let the pants fall around pale ankles that looked almost familiar—almost like his own. The cock, on the other hand, was exactly like his own, at least as far as he’d ever been able to tell. It hung lax and soft between the Supreme Intelligence’s thighs, sprouting from a nest of thick, white curls. “Well?” the Supreme Intelligence said, voice rich with amusement. It bowed Yon-Rogg’s head forward, towards its cock. “Enjoy.”

Yon-Rogg’s cheeks heated as he stretched his lips around that cock that could have been his. The Supreme Intelligence hummed thoughtfully, and Yon-Rogg went hot all over. His armor was uncomfortable now, insulating himself in his own sweat. 

(Did others affirm their loyalty to the Empire this way? He didn’t know what he wanted the answer to be. It didn’t matter; it wasn’t his concern.)

The Supreme Intelligence had no flavor. That had been odd to Yon-Rogg, the first time he’d been offered this. Then, he still remembered the taste of other men’s fluids on his tongue—women too, sometimes. Now it’d been so long he thought that organic tang in his mouth and nose would nauseate him, when compared to the clean, pure odorlessness of the Supreme Intelligence.

Yon-Rogg himself was still organic, even in this place. He drooled; he couldn’t help it. He sucked at the head of the Supreme Intelligence’s cock tongued at the slit as he remembered enjoying being licked, long ago, and strings of spittle slipped from his mouth. His jaw quickly began to ache. He set the pain aside; a commander of Starforce had no use for it. He closed his eyes. It was as though the boundless horizons drew in, collapsed until nothing existed at all except this cock in his mouth, this ache in his knees, the tug of fingers in his hair. He lost himself in this one simple thing: sucking and licking, drawing the Supreme Intelligence slowly stiff through sheer singleness of purpose.

(Or because the Supreme Intelligence deigned to grow erect for him, to pretend that Yon-Rogg had the power to affect it in such a base, bodily way.)

The Supreme Intelligence made no noise. It didn’t tremble or quiver. It was beyond such things, and so only the further tightening of the grip in Yon-Rogg’s hair warned him before the Supreme Intelligence spent itself in his mouth.

Spent what? Something a bit more slippery than what Yon-Rogg himself produced, cool, with a metallic aftertaste. He swallowed all of it. It seemed to chill as it settled in his stomach; it seemed as if he could still feel every drop of it. And then, spontaneously, he felt the thing he’d been aching for and dreading all at once, for it meant his time was nearly over: the deep, overwhelming sensation of his own orgasm rolling through him.

He found himself out of breath, shaking in exhaustion—of spirit, if nothing else. Of mind. He rested his forehead againt the Supreme Intelligence’s bare thigh and fought to slow his pulse.

The Supreme Intelligence loosed its grip on his hair at last and palmed the side of his head. “Well done, Yon-Rogg,” it said. In that moment, Yon-Rogg could almost believe it was a living person. He could almost believe it was sincere. “Train this human in what it means to be Kree. Teach her your control. Your failure on C-53 may yet be redeemed.” 

Between one breath and the next, Yon-Rogg found himself alone. The distant, minute sounds of the sanctum buzzed and rattled through walls that had seemed silent when Yon-Rogg had first walked in. He opened his eyes and found himself still knelt on the alcove floor. His belly was flecked with drying come. His muscles were jellied; even lifting his head was an effort, and his jaw ached with a phantom ache.

Yon-Rogg wiped himself off with a tissue from the pocket of his jacket—he had not _presumed_ , but he hadn’t come unprepared, either. His mind was quiet, though. His breath was even. He dressed slowly, letting the sounds of physical reality settle into him again. 

He’d done well. He knew what he must do next. He’d prove Vers’s worth yet. 

When he exited the sanctum, he found the day nearly over. He walked down steps painted gold by the setting sun.

END


End file.
